Hogwarts was in chaos. No—Britain's entire wizarding world was in turmoil.
News had exploded across the country that the Dark Lord had not only returned to life but had brazenly broken into the Ministry itself. The morning edition of The Daily Prophet spun a ridiculous tale, claiming that during his incursion, he had slaughtered several "innocent noble purebloods," brave, upstanding pillars of the community who had heroically discovered the Dark Lord's plot and bought precious minutes for the Aurors to respond.
'Hogwash.' Minerva McGonagall thought bitterly. She knew those names, every one of them, none of them had been innocent, and more than a few had Death Eater ties that were an open secret.
She simply couldn't fathom why Voldemort, a man who prized subservience from his followers, would kill them all himself. The papers spun a ridiculous tale of "brave, upstanding pillars of the community," People who had discovered the dark lord's plan and had fought him.
Standing against the madman bravely to buy time for the auror and Dumbledore to come and battle the dark lord, making him flee the scene.
It spun a tale of valiant, noble people, but she doubted even half the wizarding public believed that. Those names were too infamous, too well-known for their loyalties to the wrong side of history.
The minister was being hanged by the people as they had all but declared that he was responsible for this, as he had not taken Dumbledore and Potter's warning, and now innocent people were dead.
He had tried to spin a tale that would shift the blame, but after seeing the darklord's picture on the papers, everyone had tossed whatever excuse the man had wanted to feed them.
People were scared, and even she would admit that she was terrified, who wouldn't be, they had barely won the war. If it wasn't for Harry Potter, who killed the Dark Lord before she was sure that madman would have won.
Now he was back, and she feared what was going to happen. She sighed. People would say that Dumbledore was here, and it would be alright.
She glanced at the man before shaking her head, that would not really assure her as it would in the past. Dumbledore was not well, she didn't know what it was, but she was sure of it.
He tries to hide it, had it not been for Potter, she would not have even noticed until he had brought it to her attention, and after looking at him closely, she was 100% sure of it. She had asked him about it, but he just kept saying everything was fine.
She gritted her teeth. The man was not well, that was clear, but he didn't want to admit it, and there was nothing she could do. Everything seemed like it was falling apart, and she couldn't even help the dark thoughts of what the return of the dark lord would bring.
He had already killed even his own men, and no one knew why, she guessed it may have been their failure to do something or something else along those lines.
The whispers from the staff table were even more cynical. Flitwick had suggested it was a purge of the weak, while Sprout thought it a twisted game. Minerva just found herself staring into her goblet of pumpkin juice, the liquid a murky mirror of her mood.
She had watched the students read the paper, and her heart ached as she heard the sudden cries and sobs from a number of them, realizing their parents were among the dead.
The cries of a Hufflepuff sixth-year, whose mother had been the notoriously corrupt Amelia Carrow, were particularly gut-wrenching. The parents might have been on the wrong side, but the children were innocent, and they didn't deserve to feel the pain of losing their parents.
Yet, a small, dark part of her couldn't help but feel a grim satisfaction at the death of those who had no doubt been Death Eaters. It was a vicious, unbidden joy that she immediately hated herself for, a cold sense of justice for all the lives they had ruined. She just couldn't figure out why the Dark Lord had killed them.
He shook her head before catching a glance of the sit close to her, and those dark thoughts returned. The death of a fellow teacher, the death of Snape.
The news of Snape's death was what truly unsettled her, though. It had started with a frantic sixth-year Slytherin girl rushing into her office, pale and trembling. It took precious minutes to calm the child enough to get the story out.
Snape had missed morning duties, hadn't appeared at breakfast, and wasn't in his classrooms. Worried, the girl had gone to his office and found him. Lying on the floor. Dead. Blood pooled beneath him, the body already cold.
Minerva had wasted no time, summoning Dumbledore and the other professors. The scene in Snape's office was macabre.
The room was so pristine and organized. Potion bottles were all properly arranged, books all sorted and kept organized on the bookshelf. The scent of potions and old books hung heavy in the air, all would have looked well if not for mingling with the coppery tang mixed in the air, the scent of blood.
The body of Severus Snape lay in the center of the room, his face a mask of agony, eyes closed like he had been sleeping yet dreaming of nightmares, his skin covered in scars as if he had been stabbed, cut, burned, boiled and even frozen, it was like he had been tortured to death using different methods yet the room didnt sugest that.
His skin showed his veins running along his body, pulsing black and purple from within even after his death.
Dumbledore, face pale and his eyes devoid of their usual twinkle, examined the body with a grim determination. The wounds, he'd claimed, were all inflicted by Snape's own magic.
It was like his own magic had rebelled and killed him. It was a bizarre sight for all. Even a lot of the teacher couldn't seem to stomach the sight of their co-worker, or ex-coworker at this point.
How or why his magic acted like that was beyond any of them. Given that it had happened on the same night as Voldemort's brazen attack on the Ministry, and without Snape sending any warning, it was "reasonable," Dumbledore said, to assume the Dark Lord had discovered his spy and ensured his end.
It was a plausible explanation.
Minerva still wasn't convinced. The announcement of Snape's death had been met with a tepid reaction from the student body. She'd expected little fondness, but the sheer indifference stung.
She had watched Severus grow from a sullen, brilliant eleven-year-old into the man he became. They'd never been close, and often clashed, but there had been… something like friendship. At least, she hoped he had considered her one.
And now he was gone. Another loss added to the long list of names she had lost over the years. She was beginning to tire of all these losses.
She just hoped it would get better, that this time the war would end quickly with much bloodshed, and at this point, she hoped whichever side wins would do it quickly.
She stood from her chair and headed towards her office, locking the door behind her. She grabbed a bottle from her cabinet and poured herself a drink to drown her sorrows.
Gryffindor common room
Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, legs stretched out, watching the ripples of conversation spread like wildfire. Classes had been canceled for the day following the announcement of Greasy Bat's demise.
The Great Hall had been silent during the announcement, but once back in the common room, people's tongues loosened. A group of fifth-years was openly celebrating, toasting with smuggled butterbeer. A seventh-year was gleefully attempting to conjure a Snape puppet that would scold anyone who got too close. No one was mourning. Not that Harry expected them to.
Hermione's moral outrage barely counted.
"That's horrible," she whispered, clearly upset as she overheard a group of fifth-years celebrating.
"How can they say things like that? Someone just died." Hermione's face was drawn, her brow furrowed not with grief for the man, but with a deep, almost existential sadness.
It was the principle of the thing. A life, however flawed, had been extinguished. The callous joy of the students felt like a wound to her sense of decency, a brutal reminder of the world's capacity for indifference.
Harry could understand what she meant, but that didn't mean he would feel bad.
Ron snorted. "It's Snape. He probably got what he deserved."
"Ronald!" Hermione snapped, her voice sharp with disapproval. "How can you say that?"
"Because it's true. He was a nasty, miserable git who lived to make everyone else miserable. Why are you surprised no one's crying over him? He spent years tormenting me, and probably longer tormenting Harry and other students throughout the years."
"I know Professor Snape wasn't a good person—" Hermione began, her voice softening slightly, attempting to find a middle ground.
'Understatement,' Harry thought.
"—but still, someone died. The least they could do is show some respect. It's just... It's just not right to celebrate death, no matter who it is."
Ron shrugged, utterly unmoved. "It's Snape." To Ron, that was the entire argument.
Hermione turned to Harry, a silent plea in her eyes. "Tell him he's wrong."
Harry met her gaze and shook his head. "Sorry, Mione, but I'm not going to pretend. If it were someone else, maybe. But Snape? he's hated me from day one, and I've hated him just as long. I'm not going to lie to you and say I feel something I don't."
Hermione sighed, glancing between them, and decided to drop it. She no doubt wanted to say something, but couldn't argue with what he said.
Instead, she changed the subject. "So… what are you going to do?"
Harry blinked. "Do?"
"Your date with Greengrass?" she asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.
Ron's frown deepened. The boy had been loud in his disapproval about Harry going out with a Slytherin, as if Harry needed his permission. Ron's objections were a predictable mix of house prejudice and a vague, possessive friendship, a jealousy that Harry was moving into a world he couldn't follow.
He really didn't know what to think of his friend sometimes. But his date.
Harry grimaced slightly. Ah, yes—his canceled date. The reason he was even bothering to care about such a mundane thing as the day-to-day happenings of the school.
He had been genuinely intrigued by Daphne Greengrass, her sharp wit and cool demeanor a refreshing change from the usual Hogwarts drama. He was looking forward to seeing what she was like outside the school, away from the expectations of her family and her house. Apparently, two dead professors was enough for the school to lock down all trips to Hogsmeade until further notice.
He sighed. He should've waited before killing Snape. Or done it earlier. Now the trip was gone, maybe for weeks, or not at all this term.
He sighed. It was his mistake. He wasn't Aizen-sama after all. He wasn't some all knowing mastermind, mistakes were bound to happen.
At the end of the day, he reminded himself that he wasn't omniscient. He was still a human being. Still a kid, and hardly thought things through, so mistakes were going to happen. He just hadn't expected one of his first missteps to be tied to scheduling a date.
"Arggg, why did the grese git have to go and die so close to homestead trip day." he groned out, like he wasn't the one to kill the man.
Well, he did, but he was still going to blame Snape for it. Even in death, the man still continued to be a pain in the ass.
'I hope you suffer in the underworld, you overgrown bat,' he swore for the man, cursing him to suffer more in death.
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